


High Maintenance Means

by kidcarma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Making Out, Minor Violence, Multi, Riding, Toxic Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, there is like a joke about necrophilia so mind that, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28584492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidcarma/pseuds/kidcarma
Summary: “You are not him.”“Fair,” Junko shrugs, hands moving to undo his fly, fingers curling into his belt loops and beginning to tug off Kamukura’s pants- entirely unfazed by his lack of physical response. “He just makes you seem so easy.”-Kamukura and Junko use each other for their own selfish purposes, and antagonize each other about their lovers during sex.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Kamukura Izuru, Enoshima Junko/Matsuda Yasuke (implied), Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito (implied)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	High Maintenance Means

**Author's Note:**

> as always, please read the tags and proceed with caution! this one does contain some pretty dark themes, so if youve got a feeling this one wont be for you, please feel free to read one of my many other more lighthearted fics!

She chooses a time that he’s working- typing away lines of code on a laptop, eyes flitting through the ones and zeroes, as though that sort of measly distraction gives her some sense of an advantage.  
It doesn’t, of course. Kamukura is nothing if not entirely and wholly aware of his surroundings at all times. Aware of her tendency to self sabotage, and so naturally, it’s not a surprise at all when she comes barreling into his room, swinging a knife down on his head with the intent to kill- to splatter his brain matter across the screen, leaving a line of numbers unfinished.

His hand stops her easily, seized midair, he doesn’t even have to bother to turn his attention away from his task.

“It’s never going to work,” Kamukura mutters, his grip harsh on her left wrist, the knife still poised in her hand to strike were she not restrained. “But you know that,” tilts his head in the direction of her giddy grin. “Don’t you?” 

“You never know for sure!” her tune is chipper, the stark contrast between the pure aggressive force her arm is still exerting, trying to fight Kamukura’s hold. Still hellbent on stabbing him. “Why don’t you just give in? I know you find life to be incredibly boring. There’s nothing left for someone like you!”

“I am still holding out for the grand finale _you_ promised me,” he reminds her. 

His grip twists, bending her wrist at an unnatural angle and it sends the weapon to the ground, skidding against the floor with a dull thud. Though it’s barely audible over the pained gasp the action pulls from her. 

“Isn’t that a bitch.” 

She kisses him then, and, despite how talented he may be, not even for a second can he pretend that it’s Komaeda.

They are nothing alike, in the way they kiss- her mere presence is enough to bruise, harsh lips against his own as she towers over him. It’s an act of aggression, to assert herself as she wrenches her wrist free from Kamukura’s grasp, though it’s only in the same moment he decides to relent. Devoid entirely of love, she tips her head and takes Kamukura’s lower lip between her teeth, the gnawing and gnashing causing the sensitive skin to redden and swell with each bite.

Not that Komaeda is any stranger to biting, of course. But he does it in a way that carries the weight of his gratitude. Never truly shedding the last traces of his hesitation as he sinks his teeth into Kamukura’s skin because he knows how much of a gift it is. How much of a privilege it is. Trembling and gasping, he is push and pull and all give and she must notice that his mind has wandered, because she pulls back with an offended eye roll, lip curling into a sneer.

“You could at least _pretend_ to be enthused.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Ugh,” she wipes the spit from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Whatever.”

He knows she enjoys the game though- the chase- because she leans back in, forcing as much of herself onto him as she can while still standing, fingers curling into the back of the chair as she pushes it a few inches away from the desk to make room for her body with a bitter shove, cages him in. To put so much effort, so much work into something with no reward, the despair of that is clearly a driving force.

For the briefest of moments, there is a respite, only the soft sounds of stuttered breaths and lips sliding against each other fill the air. The relief is short though.

“It’s like kissing a fucking dead body,” she complains, flush against his mouth.

“To be completely honest,” Kamukura comments idly, one of her hands moving to smooth out the fabric of his shirt atop his shoulder, then slowly trailing downward. “That sounds like something you’d enjoy.”

Junko snorts. 

“ _Me?_ ” Her laugh is incredulous. “Nah, that’s all you. Your boy-toy is, like, a walking corpse. You’re a real fucking pervert, you know that?”

Some of her amusement vanishes though when her hand makes it to its destination, palming at his crotch and visibly deflating at what she finds.

“Aw, nothing huh? Not even a little bit?”

Kamukura shifts. 

“You are not him.” 

“Fair,” Junko shrugs, hands moving to undo his fly, fingers curling into his belt loops and beginning to tug off Kamukura’s pants- entirely unfazed by his lack of physical response. “He just makes you seem so _easy_.” 

Lifting his hips in cooperation, Kamukura allows her to shed the layers of fabric separating them- though she leaves him to kick them off the rest of the way when she determines completing the task to be too tedious, and moves her manicured claws to shucking off his blazer. 

“I can assure you,” Kamukura drones, tilting his head back. “He’s far more practiced than you are.” 

“Uhh duh, I _know_.” Her next victim is his tie, tugging petulantly at the article of clothing until she’s freed him of it, then she sends it flying across the room. “God, you two are so fucking loud. Him more than you, obviously, but jeez. Like fucking rabbits.”

“It bothers you, what I choose to do with my free time?”

“Ugh,” she wrinkles her nose. “As if.”

“Then,” he hums low, entirely unfazed by the way he’s almost bare before her, save for the now partially unbuttoned shirt that’s hanging halfway off his shoulders, forgotten in favor of continuing with their charade because it’s an unnecessary factor in all of this. “It is _who_ I’m spending my free time with, that bothers you.”

“He reveres you like a God. He’d lick your spit off the ground. It’s disgusting.”

“I would not ask him for something so trivial and meaningless.”

“But he’d totally do it if you told him too.”

Kamukura tilts his head.

“Perhaps.”

“You two are, like, the most hopeless, perfectly fucked up pair I’ve ever seen. It’s pathetic, honestly,” Junko coos, sliding her digits into his long hair at the root, sinking in and tugging. “Your existence. So talented and powerful, yet so desperate for entertainment, you're fully aware you’re being used like a tool- and you’re perfectly okay with that!” 

“Should I not be?” he murmurs, leaning back as she settles herself in his space. Straddling his lap, the smell is distinctly that of her obnoxious perfume- cloying, flirty and sickeningly sweet, clinging to his skin in a way he imagines will take days to fade away. It wafts around them in a curtain, and Kamukura does not bother to hide the way his nose wrinkles when she leans in closer, strawberry blonde hair brushing against his cheek and increasing the smell threefold. “It is not any different than how others before you have treated me. And so long as I benefit from it as well, I see no logical reason to be bothered.”

“Tch,” she clicks her tongue. Manicured fingers come up to undo the top button on her cardigan, loosening her own tie, then tugging the fabric down to expose her tits. “Well whatever, if you’re complacent with your own wretched existence, that’s your problem.”

“You’re mistaken if you think shoving your chest into my face is going to get you anywhere.”

“You’re no fun!” It comes out somewhere between a pout and a whine. “There is seriously something wrong with you if this isn’t getting you hard.”

“Perhaps you just have to work a little harder.” He tilts his head. Grip finding home on the swell of her thighs, Kamukura pushes the hem of Junko’s skirt upward, making it easier for her to grind down on his clothed length. Her gaze is scrutinizing- pissed off, Kamukura believes it is. But to that he pays no mind, opting instead to simply close his eyes and dig his fingernails into the flesh of her legs until the sensation starts to do something for him, the heat stirring in his gut.  
His eyes are still closed but he can hear the way her eyes light up in the way she speaks next-  
“Finally,” her fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxers and tugging his half hard dick out, giving it a few pumps until she’s got him all the way to where she wants him.

Then, promptly seats herself on him, taking him in- he’s not surprised. There’s no preamble with her. Just the harsh burn of something tight, _too_ tight to be pleasurable but in a sense, he knows that’s just wants she wants as she starts to ride him. 

She may be nothing like Komaeda, but in this regard, he finds, his cock sliding into them is enough to startle them into silence- at least for a little- and this is the exception to the rule.  
But that could never last for long.

When she opens her mouth to speak again, Kamukura clamps his hand down over the words that are about to come out. He has no interest in whatever they will be. Ignores the way she scowls at his bedside manner, instead sinks her claws into his shoulders for better leverage. 

It’s just a matter of finding the perfect pace, slamming up into her just right. Enough to keep them both quiet, though not too much to tip the chair.  
She tries it too. Must catch on to the precise balancing act, and when she does, throws her weight forward in an attempt to send them toppling because she’s a menace, he knows, grows bored of things almost as he quickly as he does- and so Kamukura has to counter it, lets the lean of his body mass stop them from going down in a pile of limbs, both of his hands shooting forward to grab the edge of the desk to accomplish just that.  
And she takes the opportunity of a freed mouth to start spouting off again.

“Y’know, I think I would have liked to know the loser you were before all this.” Her grin is sharp. “It would have made the anguish of an empty husk taking his place all the more despairing!”

“True,” Kamukura rolls his hips up into her easy, pausing for just a moment to ensure that the chair is stable before his grip releases the desk, fingers digging into the bunched up fabric of her skirt to keep it out of the way. “But it would pale in comparison to _him_ , would it not?” 

“Him?” She tugs, her grip on Kamukura’s hair causing his head to jerk. Though his expression betrays anything he might feel- still entirely passive as she puts the pieces together, starts to giggle that grows into a full blown cackle right in his face, though its full effect is lessened somewhat by the breathless tone that tells Kamukura she’s closer than she means to let on. “Oh babydoll, tell me you’re not bringing up my dead lover while you’ve got your dick inside me.” 

“I am,” he hums. He suspects it would be something akin to satisfaction he’d be feeling, were it possible, at the flush painted high on her cheeks and the smile screwed into her visage, clearly twisted in pain. “He was your childhood friend, was he not? Knowing and losing the person who I had been prior to the Kamukura project wouldn’t compare to the despair you felt killing him.”

That’s enough to wring a gasp out of her and she shudders, clearly indulging in the memory- shaking thighs and sweat beading on her brow as she comes. 

She’s gotten what she wanted from him. 

True to his prediction, she pulls off of him even though he hasn’t finished, but since that’s to be expected, Kamukura takes himself into his fist without issue, tugging until he tips over the edge, spending onto his hand with nothing more than a shudder and a stunted breath as she looms over him, waiting for the wind to come back to her lungs. 

Wordlessly, he nudges Junko off of his lap, leaves her to stand on shaky legs as he steps across the floor, deftly avoiding the scattered clothes until he makes his way to the bathroom. Washes his hands, scrubs the lipstick from his face as best he can- though it catches on the corners of his mouth and won’t budge, stained a sticky red and bits of glitter that he suspects he’ll find there even days down the line- and swiftly dodges the knife that comes sailing through the air as he steps out of the bathroom, the blade burying itself in the wall behind his head.

“I could have it hidden for you,” she suggests, now perched in his place on the chair, tapping the keys of his laptop as she scrolls through the rows of his hard work.

Kamukura doesn’t acknowledge the offer. It’s already clear she plans to do as such. And it’s almost a favor, in a bizarre, cruel way. Despite her cunning nature, Kamukura knows she understands the sensation of suffocating, crushing boredom.   
Having the AI hidden for him to track down would provide a little relief, the least she could do for him. 

“I look forward to the possibility of exploiting you for my own selfish purposes, even in death.” 


End file.
